


Unsound

by flowerboylou



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:05:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerboylou/pseuds/flowerboylou
Summary: Running.That was all I could do. I was full of adrenaline, and running was the only thing that could ease me before I burst and become overwhelmed. It was dark and the street lamps illuminated against the wet pavement, there was barely anyone who I saw on the streets. I screamed because it felt good, so good to run this way and not look back. I must have run a couple of miles before I hear the sirens, loud and glaring, telling me to stop.Here we find out what Eliott goes through after being caught by the police and his journey of helplessness, anxiety and many more.





	Unsound

_ Running. _

 

That was all I could do. I was full of adrenaline, and running was the only thing that could ease me before I burst and become overwhelmed. It was dark and the street lamps illuminated against the wet pavement, there was barely anyone who I saw on the streets. I screamed because it felt good, so good to run this way and not look back. I must have run a couple of miles before I hear the sirens, loud and glaring, telling me to stop.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Fuck. I’m naked. _

 

I stopped abruptly in my tracks, almost as if I was caught in a trance. The policemen got out of the car and tackled me to the ground, pinning my hands to my back, face down on the wet pavement. The sudden realisation dawned on me. Why did I do that? My ears start to get tingly, I could only hear white noise. The policemen shout some things I can’t hear while cuffing my hands and covering me up with a black bag and shoving me into the back of the police car.

 

Everything that happened then was a blur. The fingerprints, the questioning, the mugshots that were taken. I just couldn’t concentrate. I was then thrown into a cell. _ No. _ I start to get jittery, can’t stop moving and shaking, can’t even sit still for a few seconds. It was cold, I felt dirty and unclean, sitting on the hard concrete floor with just a thin blanket covering me. The walls of the cell inched closer and closer to me, as my anxiety rose, cornering me.

 

_ Fuck I can’t take it. I need to get away. Break out of this cell. I can’t stay here any longer.  _

 

Just as I considered shaking the grills of the cell, I hear a familiar voice; frantic and worried. I still couldn't pinpoint who it was. I run up and strain myself to see who it was and I see the last person I wanted to see. Lucille. Then like a big wave, realisation dawned upon me,  _ Lucas. Where is he? _

 

_ Shit. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Did I hurt him? Did I scare him? Of course I fucking scared him. Is he here? I need to see him. I can’t stand not seeing him. He’ll think I’m a freak. I need to speak to him. I need to explain a lot of things. A lot. I need to tell him I love him. I need to apologise. _

 

I called out frantically to Lucille, who then spotted me with so much worry in her eyes. She ran up to me and I grabbed her hand hastily, breathing heavily.

 

“L-lucas, Lucas, where is he? Please Lucille. Is he here?” I breathed out with a slight tremble in my voice. The worry on her face is quickly replaced with anger. 

 

“Eliott! You are being charged with indecent exposure and trespassing into that fucking houseboat and all you can think about is that fucking whim? You could go to jail Eliott! And he is the reason why things got out of hand. You didn’t tell him about your condition, did you? Do you know how many times I tried to contact him to warn him about your illness?” she lashed out icily. 

 

“I don’t care about the charges. Did you talk to him? Please, Lucille. I need to see him.” I begged.

 

“Yes, I spoke to him. I told him everything. He wanted to see you but I won’t let him. He’s done enough damage. Your parents will be coming soon and I guarantee you won’t see him again.”

 

“Fuck Lucille! Why did you tell him? I-I was supposed to tell him myself. I wa-was gonna explain everythin-”

 

“Yeah? And look at how things turned out. When were you gonna tell him huh? After you have a manic episode that scared him to death? You never wanted to tell him did you? Scared that he’s gonna leave you? Guess what Eliott? He will leave you because he doesn’t know shit about your condition. Whatever you had with him is just a high, it’s not real. It’s all in your head Eliott.”

 

I couldn't hear her any longer. I let go of her hands and sink to the floor. Covering my ears and putting my head between my knees.  _ It’s not true. What Lucas and I had was real. It wasn’t just a high. I fucked up. I love him. I love him so much. What we had was true, it was raw, it was love. He loves me still, doesn’t he? _

 

I didn’t speak to anyone after that. I kept quiet when my parents bailed me out. I wouldn’t look at anyone in the eye. I kept quiet when my parents had to explain to the police that I was crazy, that I have a mental illness, and that everything I did happened because I had a manic episode, that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was excused from the charges and about 3 hours later, with a stern warning, I was let go. 

 

~

 

I stayed in my room at my parents house. Not moving. Not eating. Just thinking. The guilt of hurting Lucas and scaring him eating me from inside. How do I speak to Lucas? How do I explain everything to him? I can’t explain anything in words. Then I knew what to do. Grabbing my pen and paper I scrawled whatever was on my mind. If I drew my thoughts and scanned them to Lucas, he’ll understand me. He knows it’s me and he’ll talk to me.

 

My hands trembled as I drew the first few, my emotions so overwhelming - knowing that Lucas will see these drawings. The very person who never made me feel like I was an outcast, that made me feel normal. The one who loved me so fiercely that I knew, he wouldn’t care if I was mentally ill. One drawing turned into five, then another five, I couldn’t stop. So many things I wanted to tell him through my drawings. 

 

After contemplating that it was enough to express what I feel to Lucas, I scanned them and sent it through text, hoping that he’ll understand me - How sorry I am, how much I love him, how much I want and need to see him. I let out a heavy sigh, lie on the bed and close my eyes for a bit, thinking of how deep my love is for Lucas, how he’s made me feel things I’ve never felt before, not even with Lucille. I know Lucas will understand me, he always has, and I know he’ll forgive me. 

 

~

 

_ “Please, stop sending me messages. I can’t handle it.” _

 

My hands trembled and my lip quivered as I read his text message. I could see from the ticks that he didn’t see all my drawings, only two of them. No.  _ No. Lucas, please don’t do this. You’re the only one who can understand me right now. Don’t leave me. Please just see my drawings and forgive me. I need you so much right now. Don’t isolate me like how everyone else does when they find out I’m mentally ill. I’m not a freak Lucas. I just want you to support me. I’m not a freak. I’m not a freak. I’m not a freak. I’m not a freak.  _

 

The thoughts became so overwhelming I threw my phone across the room and hid under the covers. I’m not unfamiliar to the reactions I get when people find out I’m mentally ill. Most just keep their distance and act like they walk on eggshells around me, fearing that I’d lash out at them. The only way for me to cope with it is to ignore them. But I wasn’t expecting that reaction from Lucas. I need him so badly but it’s clear he doesn’t want me anymore. I scared him and he doesn’t love me. _ How could anyone love me? I’m not normal and not even my parents or Lucille can stand looking at me. I didn’t ask for this. Never asked for any of it. Why can’t I just be normal? _

 

I lay in a fetal position for almost a day doing absolutely nothing. My parents finally concluded that they want me to see a psychiatrist and dragged me out of bed to the doctors' office. I hated going there. Having a person jot down your heartfelt thoughts on a notepad, psychoanalysing you. I felt miserable. My throat dry and sore, my eyes red-rimmed from crying, my hair greasy. I refused to do anything at all. I refused to speak. Somehow my parents managed to convince me that this psychiatrist was ‘different’ and that he was renowned in his field or some shit like that.

 

I was brought into a room that was brightly lit up _. Fuck. I hate this place.  _ I sat down on a dingy chair and waited for someone to ask me how my day has been and for them to give me this lame ass advice thinking they’re so noble and knowledgeable of what the demented actually go through. Then came in this polished, middle-aged man with a white coat on. I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes.

 

“Eliott Demaury. Nice to see you. How has your day been?”.  _ Ah just as I expected.  _ I wanted to give him a snarky reply, but I held myself back. Let’s give this man a chance. He might probably help me this time around.

 

“Not going great. I’m sure my parents told you what I did over the weekend.” I said, just a little over a whisper. My throat was still coarse and dry.

 

“Ah yes. What was your motive of doing that Eliott?” he asked while jotting down some notes on that godforsaken notepad. 

 

“I don’t know. I just had the sudden urge to do it.” I replied, I couldn’t say anything more, that was just it.

 

“But you must know why, right? I mean, you’re 19 aren’t you? You’re not a small child. Come on, man up. I know you’re not telling me something.” He looked at me with incredulous eyes, like he thought I was lying to him.

 

“But that’s the truth! I really don’t know why I did it. I just did.” I bit back. How can he call himself a psychiatrist when he imposes such questions upon me, with such malice. He totally does not understand nor comprehend whatever I’m feeling. He just wants to make up something on that stupid notepad that sounds really good to show my parents later on after the session. 

 

“Now you see, Eliott, you have a chemical imbalance in your brain that makes you act this way. No need to get all worked up. Having said that I’m gonna prescribe you some medici-”

 

I stood up abruptly, screeching the chair on the floor. I couldn’t stand hearing him speak for another minute. ‘Different’ my ass. He was just like all the other psychiatrists I’ve seen. I barged out the door and onto the waiting area where my parents are. 

 

“Eliott, what happened? Why are you out so early? Son, c’mon.” I ignored them and waited outside at the parking lot squatting beside my parents' car. Fucking waste of my time. 10 minutes later, my parents walked out holding a bag of what seems to be my medicine. 

 

“Eliott, dear, you have to take this twice a da-”

 

“I’m not drinking that fucking medicine. And fuck that doctor. He wasn’t different. They’re all the same.” I opened the car door and just got in, not speaking a word on the ride home. I could see my parents sneaking silent glances at each other. They just sighed and looked away.

 

_ I didn’t mean to be so harsh to them. They were only trying to help me.  _ The guilt became overwhelming again. _ Fuck, did I really need to hurt all the people around me? _

 

We entered the house silently. I hesitantly went up to my room, my apology at the tip of my tongue. I thought about what I was gonna say and how I would approach them. I never wanted to hurt my parents, I know they love me and I loved them back. After much fretting, I walked down the stairs silently, approaching the living room.

_ He’s sick! You can’t force him to do things that he doesn’t want to do. Just give him some time and be there for him. He’s our son.  _

 

_ Yes, but he’s old enough to make his own decisions and know what’s good and bad for him! He has to take the medicine or this will go out of hand. I blame it on the boy Lucille told us about- _

 

I walked into the living room, effectively silencing out anything else my father had to say. I kept my head down and my hands in my pockets, while both of them watch me silently.

 

I wanted to hug them and cry into their shoulders. I just wanted to feel them comforting me. Their presence alone makes me feel like a small boy who’s scared to tell their parents they got a bad mark in school. My mother took a step forward and hugged me, embracing me fully and so lovingly. That broke a huge dam in me, and I let the tears flow while I took comfort in her neck, devouring her familiar smell. My dad joined in a while later, embracing both of us. Their hug felt like a safety blanket I used to have when I was younger. I cried and cried, while they whispered how much they love me, how much I mean to them, and how I am their son and no illness will change that.

 

I sobbed and sobbed, the tears never ending. All my emotions poured out onto my parents’ shirt. I gripped onto them so tightly, because I’m afraid they’ll leave me. I’m afraid that in a second they’ll disappear and that I’ll be alone again in the dark. My hands trembled and my knees felt weak. We sat on the couch and they continued to hug me, not letting me go. I was being cradled like a baby and it felt so nice to feel their embrace again. I could hear their cries too. After almost an hour of being like that, I finally choked up my apologies to them.

 

“M-ma, pa, I’m sorry I shouted and you just now, I didn’t mean to. The doctor just got on my nerves and everything has just been overwhelming-g”, I broke down and cried into my hands, not knowing how to continue.

 

“Eli, baby, it’s alright. I know it’s hard but we’re always here for you. We know what’s best and you have to trust us okay?” my mother said softly, while caressing my cheek. I nodded my head and just fell quiet. Just then, my father spoke up.

 

“Eliott, I think it’s best that you stay away from the boy you’re seeing, I think he’s not good for you. He’ll only cause trouble and-”

 

“Pa”, I interrupted. “Pa, you know the feeling that you get when you feel really dirty and when you shower you feel so refreshed? Or when it rains at night and you have a nice steaming cup of hot chocolate that warms you up? Or when you had a really long day and that second you lay your head on the pillow you just fall asleep? ” I questioned.

 

“Yes son, those are the best feelings. What about it?” he questioned back. I smiled to myself and replied, “I feel like that with Lucas. He calms me down, makes me happy. I just feel good with him. I know you and ma will love him, pa. Please let me see him, I promise he’s so good for me. Sometimes too good,” I paused and looked at them. “It’s actually my fault and not his. I-um didn’t tell him I was bipolar a-and it’s because of me that that I h-hurt and scared him”, I sobbed again, feeling so helpless.

 

My father and mother shared a glance. “Oh baby, why didn’t you tell him?” I shook my head and continued, “I was scared he’ll leave ma. Every time I tell someone I’m mentally ill, they all leave. They become scared, they’re not the same. I didn’t want that with Lucas.” I just continued crying, so tired of it all.

 

“Talk to him, son” my father suggested. “I did, he doesn’t want to talk to me” I sighed heavily. “Try again Eli, but give him time too. It’s probably hard for him to handle too.” I nodded and went to sleep in their arms, so exhausted.

 

~

  
  


Lucas isn’t responding. From the ticks, I can see he never received them. He  _ blocked _ me. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me. He’s cutting me off completely.  _ What did I do wrong? Does he not feel the same way I feel about him? How much we loved each other, how raw and pure it was? _

 

_ The boat, where we made love and you were the only one on my mind?  _

 

_ The park, when we embraced and showered each other with affection publicly for the first time in front of our friends? _

 

_ When you introduced me to your squad as your boyfriend? How happy I was that you accepted me and chose me as your boyfriend? _

 

_ When painting that awful mural, when we made love for the first time, painting our love for each other for everyone to see? How we slipped out of school in the middle of the night absolutely covered in paint and washed each other and watch the paint swirl in the bathtub? _

 

_ How guilty I felt when I saw your injured hand in the canteen, how I wanted to whisper apologises and kiss every single finger?  _

 

_ How fascinated I was when you spoke of parallel universes, or when I drew you as a hedgehog just to communicate with you? How my sketchbooks are completely filled with you as a little hedgehog, at every corner of my textbook, anywhere I could draw? _

 

_ At my hideout place, when you held out your hands, how my heart burst when I realised you watched my ‘Polaris’ video? Where we had that amazing first kiss in the rain?  _

 

_ When you played the piano, how I fell in love with you with every note you played? The fact that I obsessively searched for the piece you played for me and found out you played Riopy’s ‘I Love You’? _

 

_ How we tried to make each other jealous at the party, looking into each other's eyes so intensely I’d think we were actually kissing? _

 

_ How I went to the group meeting just to see you? _

 

_ When you bumped into me on the first day of school, and you didn’t see me? _

 

_ Do you know how much I love you, Lucas? _

  
  


~

 

The silence. The tranquility. The dead leaves rustling under my feet. The soft pattering of the rain. Wet and cold. The tunnel. Where we had our kiss. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like him again, and I don’t want to. Lucas was everything to me, and because of me, I ruined it, ruined what we had. All because of my stupid illness, and my fear that I’ll lose him. But I forget that it’s impossible to lose someone because we’re all alone anyway.

 

I smiled and laughed to myself, cried as I sat there in the tunnel, thinking of Lucas. Remembering the memories we shared, the kisses, the soft touches. Crying and sobbing because I know it’s all over. I start scratching myself at the wrist, until they become red and raw, some almost bleeding. I just can’t comprehend how it’s all over, how he was the light in my life and now I’m back in the dark again, falling and falling into the dark hole, slowly slipping awa-

 

“Eliott!”

 

_ Lucas. _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this. I just had to add a little bit of the famous "Even" text at the end, I couldn't help myself teehee. Being bipolar myself, I wanted to bring light to what the demented actually feel and how they are being treated by professionals (not all psychiatrists act the way I have portrayed here, but there are people like them in the world), the prejudice they face, the stigmatism of it all, how they think and process their environment around them. It's short, I can't cover exactly everything that happens around them, but I hope this was a good shot. If they can't make a season for Eliott (or for the other many parallel universes out there) at least there's this. I hope this may touch people out there who faces these things in their everyday lives, or even if you don't, at least you can understand them a bit more.
> 
> I just want those who has these demons haunting them to know that:
> 
> You're not alone.
> 
> :)


End file.
